He was so quiet that there was absolutely nothing to be done; to smooth his pillow or to pass a gentle hand over his forehead would have been to risk disturbing his perfect quiet, and she felt not the slightest desire to do either.

For a blessed space she was able to put away the thought of the question which would be asked when he wakened, and which he only could answer.

It was not a night of weary waiting nor of anxious watching; while its length lasted, he was hers to watch, hers alone to take care of, and that was so like happiness that the hours ran on too swiftly and she was startled when she heard the clock of the San Michele hospice strike three; she remembered that it had struck nine a few minutes after she had sat down beside him.
Her anxiety awoke again now, and that delicious state of peace in which she had passed the night began to seem like a past dream.

In a little more than an hour the dawn would begin to steal through the outer blinds--the dawn she had watched for and longed for a thousand times in five years of nursing.

It would be unwelcome now; it would mean the day, and the day could only mean for her the inevitable question.
She sat down again to watch him, for she had risen nervously in the first moment of returning distress; and she felt the cold of the early morning stealing upon her as she became gradually sure that his breathing was softer, and that from time to time a very slight quivering of the closed lids proclaimed the gradual return of consciousness.